Deadweight
by walking primrose
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has been intrigued with the woman who lives across the street ever since she moved in a few weeks ago. He knows her routine and movements like the back of his hand, and is surprised when, out of the blue, her routine is interrupted by a man with a cane. [Sherlock/OC]


_Chapter One_

There was a collection of bangs in the living room that stirred John Watson from a light slumber. He opened an eye and glanced at the alarm clock. It read: 06:18a.m. He groaned and pulled the duvet over his head in an attempt to block out the sound but it was no good. The noise persisted and John threw the duvet off his aching body and slipped out of bed and into his slippers. Pulling his dressing gown on, he padded into the living room to find Sherlock staring out of the window.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he stood in the doorway.

"Being a nosy neighbour," Sherlock replied, nonchalantly.

"Right… and may I ask why?"

"If you must," Sherlock sighed, turning towards John. "The woman who moved into the flat across the street, her routine has been the same all day every day."

"And?"

Sherlock turned back towards the window. "For seven weeks and four days, her routine has been the same."

"Ah, that makes me understand it a little bit more," John replied sarcastically.

"Please don't roll your eyes," Sherlock responded, still looking out of the window.

"How?" John asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. Sherlock, despite living with him for the past few months, still confused him at the best of times. He was able to understand Sherlock's behaviour more and more as the days went by but just when John was close to understanding why Sherlock was the way he was, and he was so close, Sherlock surprised him with something new.

"I know all your habits, John. Even before you know them," Sherlock explained. "Anyway, as I was saying. She goes for a run at exactly six a.m. in the morning. On the dot. Every day. Her bedside lamp clicks on at quarter to six and she leaves her house at six a.m. precisely, except for today."

"And what's wrong with that?" John asked, stepping closer towards Sherlock and the window. He narrowed his eyes at the window across from them. "Maybe she pulled a hamstring."

"I'd know if she'd pulled a hamstring," Sherlock said.

"Of course you would," John replied quietly.

"What?" Sherlock asked, turning his head towards the soldier.

John shrugged. "Nothing."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and turned back. John moved towards the kitchen, flicked the kettle on and allowed the sound of the kettle boiling fill his ears. He closed his eyes and yawned, tiredness overwhelm him. He couldn't remember a time when he slept through the night without being disturbed by Sherlock and his antics.

"And there's something else," Sherlock said as the kettle clicked signalling that the water was boiled.

John placed two tea bags into separate cups and poured the water in. "What?"

"She has company."

"A woman has company!" John gasped sarcastically. "Shall we call the newspapers?"

Sherlock gave John a disapproving look as the soldier set down the cup of tea on the desk next to the window.

"Male company," Sherlock said, ignoring John's comment.

"So?"

"You don't understand."

"I really don't," John began. "But I guess I wouldn't seeing as I'm not perving on a woman who lives across the street."

"I am not 'perving'!" Sherlock spat.

"Give me a logical explanation as to why you know this woman's routine down to a tee," John said.

"Because my eyes are open? Because I notice my surroundings. Because…" Sherlock began.

"You're Sherlock Holmes?" John interjected, sitting down on the couch.

"I wasn't going to say that but that, too," Sherlock replied. "I know your routine. I know that you go to bed at half nine in the evening but don't fall asleep until one a.m. and then when you do drift off, you have nightmares until you wake at four thirty a.m. and get a glass of water. You moan and rub your leg. And you leave your glass of water, which is untouched," he pointed towards the glass of water placed on the fireplace, untouched. "And you go back to bed where you dream of Afghanistan."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, his mouth ajar. He coughed, and rubbed his leg absentmindedly. "So… what's the plan for today then? Are you going to watch this woman all day?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe. Unless…"

John glanced towards Sherlock when the latter fell quiet. "Sher-"

Sherlock shushed him and beckoned him over with a finger. John came to stand next to Sherlock. "You see that?"

John narrowed his eyes and when he saw nothing, he shook his head. "Nope."

Sherlock sighed impatiently and handed John a pair of binoculars. John took them and focused his eyes onto the window across the way from them.

"Do you see it?" Sherlock asked.

"No."

"He gave her a folder."

John closed his eyes and handed the binoculars back to Sherlock. He ran a hand through his short hair. "OK… this is getting ridiculous now, Sherlock."

"Why would he give her a folder?" Sherlock asked himself, ignoring John's comment once more.

"Maybe they're colleagues," John suggested.

"No, that's not it," Sherlock said, deep in thought. "Oh!"

John watched as Sherlock hid behind the curtain. He raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the window where a man stood in the window, staring at him.

"Oh…" John murmured as Sherlock grabbed the front of his dressing gown and pulled him towards him. "You could have told me that he was looking at us!"

"I didn't have time!" Sherlock whispered.

"You could have at least given me a signal!" John argued.

"Like a wink?" Sherlock suggested.

"Yes!" John said. "Anything!"

Sherlock peered through the curtain, and watched as the man exited the house and walked down the street and out of view. Sherlock stepped forward, his eyes narrowed.

"What do you make of that?" Sherlock asked, watching as the woman closed the curtains.

"Completely normal?" John replied. "Apart from when the man was staring straight at me, of course."

Sherlock pulled a face. John raised his eyebrow.

"I know that face," John said. "Sherlock? What are you planning?"

"Oh, nothing. Biscuit?" Sherlock asked, moving towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you. What are you planning?" John asked, advancing towards him.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about!"

"Yes, you do. If you think I'm going to be part of this plan of yours that you're currently planning in that little head of yours then you have another thing coming!" John said. "I'm not going to be your puppet again!"

Sherlock looked aghast. "You enjoyed it!"

"I was shot at!" John exclaimed. "All because you couldn't keep your mouth shut!"

"You're still alive though, aren't you?" Sherlock replied. "I got you out of there!"

"Whatever you have planned, I'm not helping you," John said, exasperated. "Got that?"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, waving him away.

"Are you sure?" John persisted.

"Yes, John."

"Sherlock!"

"John!"

"Did you hear what I just said?" John pushed.

"Yes!" Sherlock responded with an eyebrow raised. He watched as John descended into the kitchen before allowing a smirk to etch itself across his face. He had a plan, and John would be a part of it whether the soldier liked it or not.


End file.
